Good Day Sunshine
by Betty Flamingo
Summary: London, 1963. John Lennon meets a mysterious girl who appears out of nowhere. Starring The Beatles. M for language and probably sexytiems later on. Also, I do not own The Beatles. And I apologise if Alice comes across as a Mary Sue.
1. Chapter 1

_London, November 24, 1963_

A tall, young man stepped out of an apartment building, dressed in a well fitted black suit, white shirt and thin black tie. His chestnut brown hair was ruffled and his honey coloured eyes were bloodshot. A thin film of sweat covered his pale skin and he relished the winter evening's breeze, inhaling the cold night air deeply. Though he would never admit it for fear of sounding queer, John Lennon loved the smell of rain. It had such a pleasant cleanliness; a soft, heavy scent.  
The moon was out; an odd sight in London. It had been raining for eight days. Of course, this was expected in England, but the clouds had only just cleared and the moon, in all its pallid splendour, was full, giving the streets an unearthly glow. It was nights like this that made John restless.  
He had been at a party with the lads in celebration of their second album. He generally enjoyed the booze and women, but he couldn't stand it tonight. He'd drunk enough to make him unsteady, but the birds were driving him mad. They wouldn't leave him alone, following him everywhere. It was a miracle he escaped alone. He had been fidgeting since eleven; a sudden and strange desire to be alone had overwhelmed him. He had managed another couple of hours of feigning interest in stupid conversations but at one am he made up some flimsy excuse and darted out of the room. He inhaled deeply again, savouring the peace and freedom.  
He paused to light a cigarette, before he crossed the road and entered a small park. He slumped down on a bench, running his hands through his still slightly sweaty hair. Holding his head in his hands, he closed his eyes as his mind began to wander.  
_What are the other lads up to_, he thought. _George'd be talking to a group of birds, Ringo would be dancing with a group of birds, and Paul, well, _John could imagine what he'd be doing with a group of birds._ Jesus,_ he sighed,_ parties are bloody repetitive. Hell, life is bloody repetitive. And I thought being a rock star would be a fucking ball. _He sighed, taking in more of the clean air. He sat motionless for several long minutes, until the cold became unbearable and he could feel the ache in his bones. He stood and stretched, his shirt briefly departing from his waistband, exposing a small strip of bone-white tummy. He hastily adjusted his clothing, pulling his jacket closer around his slender frame. He left the park gazing up at the splendidly ashen orb that mesmerised him so.  
He had barely stepped off the kerb when he felt all his hairs stand on end. A sound much akin to a record played backwards got louder and louder until it abruptly stopped. A flash of ice blue light and a loud pop echoed through the empty streets and a girl had appeared. Out of thin air.  
John stood mouth agape. He couldn't form a coherent thought.  
Her appearance was rather odd. Her clothes, for starters, were reminiscent of the fifties teenage boy style; a slightly baggy red checked shirt; tight, curve hugging, blue stovepipe jeans; and shiny red boots. She was nearly as tall as John and her hourglass figure was soft, a contrast to the androgynous figure that was becoming fashionable nowadays. Her black hair curled out at odd angles, just reaching her shoulders, her glossy fringe swept to the side.  
She wore glasses; a pair of chunky black frames that reminded John of Buddy Holly. Behind the thick lenses were her grey blue eyes, shining wildly and gazing intensely at John.  
"You're... You're... Him," she said breathlessly, grinning broadly.  
"I think," John said quietly.  
"Whoa. What year is it?"  
"N-nineteen sixty three," said John, all of his usual well practiced charm and confidence now reduced to stutters and murmurs.  
"Uh, let's see... That's pretty... gear? That what you kids say nowadays? Yeah, gear. The name's Alice," she smiled, extending her hand. John stared at it before shaking her hand, surprised that she was solid. _There goes the possibility of me going mad,_ he thought.  
"Sorry, I just need to clear something up," John started, "But you just appeared out of thin air, right in front of me. I've had a few beers but no mind altering hallucinogenics. D'yer mind helping me to understand?"  
"Ah, yes. I can see where you're coming from, and... er... well, it's a complicated story and perhaps it's best if we... um..."  
John raised an eyebrow. Alice smiled sheepishly.  
"Alright, I am... kind of from the future. Just trying out my new invention. Time travel. Pretty neat, eh?"  
John started to laugh until he realised that it was really bright for two am, and they were standing in the road. It was a car. He instinctively pulled the girl roughly back towards him, out of the way, causing them to both fall back onto the footpath in an awkward position.  
"Straddling John Lennon, another thing to tick off my back in time to do list," she laughed nervously as she rolled off onto the pavement.  
He sat up and looked at her. "You aren't really from the future, are you? Just a load of smoke and mirrors... another crazy fan... trick of the light..."  
She sighed, and with a furtive glance pulled a burnished silver pocket watch on a delicate gold chain from under her shirt. It opened with a quiet pop, revealing dozens of tiny gears and cogs, softly whirring and clicking in harmony, all shiny gold and silver. There were three dials, all very different to a regular watch face. The first, located at the top of the watch face, had numbers from one to thirty one, and only one hand, which was red and currently on the twenty four. The second face, located where the four would be on a normal watch, had a blue hand and the numbers one to twelve. It was at the eleven. The last face was blank except for a box with the current year printed in fine silver numbers.  
"How does it work?"  
"I can show you actually. But I'm not taking you into the future. Too many spoilers, and quite frankly, I could slip you mind-altering hallucinogenics," John widened his eyes at that, "and fake the future and you couldn't tell the difference. So, the past. Where would you like to go?"  
John furrowed his brow for a few moments, and a brilliant idea struck him. If she was a mad fan from the present, she couldn't pull this off. If she was a legitimate Time Traveller, then it would be kind of excellent. He turned to face her. "Dinosaurs, please."  
She frowned. "That is the stupidest, the most reckless and ridiculous idea ever. How did I not think of this before?" She leapt up. He stood watching in awe as she carefully fiddled with the knobs, spinning the year dial furiously.  
"Sir, if you would be so kind to take my arm?" She held her arm out and held the timewatch aloft in her right hand. John tentatively held her wrist.  
"Might want to tighten your grip there, wouldn't want you falling off into the middle ages or something!" She laughed lightly, prompting him to laugh nervously, a feeling of quiet dread in the pit of his stomach sending goosebumps up his spine. He wrapped both arms around hers and nodded.  
"Let's go, crazy fan from the future."  
"Hey, be nice or I will leave you with yer dinosaurs. Now, Cretaceous, Jurassic or Triassic?"  
"What do you recommend?"  
"Jurassic it is. Great movie, not that you'd know. You ready?"  
"Nope."  
"Excellent. Allons-y!"  
As soon as Alice pressed the button, a wave of vibration hit, and a throbbing hum made all the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up. He heard the reversed record sound, and was surrounded by a glowing icy blue shell, which was contracting rapidly, tightening until the blue sphere had reached the extreme points of their figure and the humming reached its highest intensity and with a pop, London, 1963 disappeared and a lush rainforest materialised.


	2. Chapter 2

John couldn't believe his eyes. He had been standing in cold, wintery London mere seconds ago, and here he was, tropical rainforest. But no proof of Time Travel yet. He continued to survey the verdant surroundings, taking in all the sights and the smells and the sounds.  
The sheer density of the jungle made it difficult to see further than a few feet away, but in those few feet laid a myriad of exotic plants, in all shades of green. Tangles of vines engulfed and entwined the trunks of fifty foot trees, dead leaf litter was sprinkled with dense ground covers spotted with bright red flowers and, to his left, a pool of water so clear, like liquid glass. Weak sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the water. The luminescence reflected up onto Alice's face, her pale skin glowing. She was kneeling on a big flat rock, peering into the crystal water. She cautiously dipped her fingers in it, splashing gently. She chuckled and stood up, wiping her fingers on her jeans. She looked over at John. He stood in the clearing, with an amazed look upon his face, still in shock from the sudden change of scenery. He noticed her smiling at him, and he grinned back.  
"So are we really back in time? I mean, all that fancy light and hum was pretty flash, but how am I supposed to know... we're back... in time..." His grin faded to a look of terror and Alice felt a gust of warm, fetid air on the back of her neck, sending goosebumps all down her spine. She slowly turned to come face to face with the scaly face of the Jurassic.  
The dinosaur opened its mouth to reveal a set of yellow daggers and growled. Alice stood perfectly still and very quietly spoke.  
"John, be very, very, _very_ quiet and walk slowly to that spot just in front of that rock. Don't make a sound."  
He nodded. He took a deep breath and slowly started walking, treading lightly, painfully slowly. The dinosaur stayed where it was, looking inquisitively at Alice.  
It cautiously sniffed her, its hot breath pushing and pulling her hair. The stench of rotten meat rolled in waves and Alice fought to keep herself from retching. Beady little eyes flickered over her, the dinosaur's confusion obvious.  
After several tense minutes, John had made it to the rock just a couple of metres opposite Alice.  
"Are you ready?" Alice murmured.  
"I think so,' John whispered, eliciting a wide grin from Alice. She took a deep breath and leapt at John, in the same instant as she pressed the button on the Time Watch. The dinosaur roared, pushing through the vegetation, snapping wildly. Alice tackled John in midair, landing heavily in the leaf litter before vanishing in the blue orb.

George Harrison was enjoying his first cigarette of the day on the balcony of The Beatles' London flat. Well, not enjoying, it was freeze-yer-tits-off cold out there. And it was three in the afternoon. He rubbed his eyes, wiping the eye bogeys on his pants. It had been a long party last night. He hadn't seen John since around one in the morning. He assumed he had left with a bird, even though he hadn't been talking to many last night. He gazed out at the rest of London. _It has been a while since I could go out and be amongst the normal, happy people. But I suppose that for fame there is always a price. And that was my freedom. _He sighed, feeling guilty for taking all this for granted. He loved playing with the lads. He loved playing. It was his life. But what would happen when all this felt less like fun and more like work, an actual job? He didn't want to find out. He turned away from the city, away from all the fans and the fame and the pressure, and back towards his friends. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass door. His faded duplicate mirrored his silly posing in pale blue flannel pyjama pants and black jumper. He chuckled quietly, running his fingers through his dark brown hair, making it stick up at funny angles. _Who says Paul is the cute one?  
_He took one last drag on his cigarette and was about to step inside when he felt a deep hum reverberating through the balcony. A funny sound caused him to turn around, when he was nigh on blinded by electric blue light. With a loud pop, the light vanished, and a very frightened looking John and a gleeful unknown girl appeared, literally out of thin air.  
"Ha! Did you see the size of that thing?" The girl laughed excitedly.  
"W-Was that a T. Rex?" John looked like he had seen a ghost.  
"Nah, they came later, round about the late Cretaceous. My bet is, judging by the size and time period, an Allosaurus Fragilis. Hurr hurr, you saw an Allosaurus with an Alice-saurus! Oh, that was terrible. I apologise in advance for any bad jokes."  
John stared at her with a bemused expression, and then burst into uncontrollable laughter. Alice joined in, and soon they were caught up in fits of giggles, rolling around on the floor.  
George rubbed his eyes, hardly believing what he had seen and heard. John and Alice, he assumed, had just appeared out of nowhere talking about dinosaurs. This could not be. Perhaps he was _really_ hung-over and was seeing things.  
"Hey George!" John had finally stopped laughing and noticed him.  
"Hullo John. Did you just magically appear or am I mad?" George asked, a little taken aback by what he had just seen.  
"Oh my lord, it's George," said Alice quietly. John looked at her with a trace of a frown. "Um, sorry. I don't mean to go all fangirl on you, but it's just, y'know. I'm _back in time._ Seeing you two is like a big neon sign saying WOW HEY LOOK YOU'RE BACK IN TIME and it's just a bit odd. And I do quite like the Beatles. And I'm babbling. Oh, and George doesn't know I'm from the future. Hi George, I'm Alice, from the future." She leapt up and extended her hand. George cautiously shook it. She beamed, her infectious smile reaching George and John, almost letting them forget how utterly bizarre the whole situation was.  
"How do I know yer from the future though? I mean, I did see ye both just appear out of nowhere and you were talking about dinosaurs and you look like a boy from the fifties. But it could be this hangover. Or I could have slipped and be bleeding to death somewhere. So please, do explain."  
She grinned and pulled the little pocket watch from under her shirt again, and popped it open. She gasped. The gears and cogs that had spun and whirred in a perfect little harmonious symphony now whined and moved erratically, clicking off beat and out of time. The watch face was smashed, the thin cracks like a spider web distorting the view of the three faces.  
"No," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes before she squeezed them shut, trying to regulate her ragged breaths. She clutched the broken timewatch to her chest. She swayed, and her knees buckled. John barely caught her, helping her down to the floor where she drew her knees up to her chest, sobbing softly, her body shaking. He put her arm around her shoulders, hugging her gently, not quite knowing what to do with the weeping girl.  
"I'm sure you can fix it," John said, "I mean, you invented it! Surely you can repair –"  
"I didn't invent it! I lied," she yelled hoarsely, a stray tear tracing the soft curve of her cheek. "I lied. I'm a lying liar who stole her poor old uncle's brilliant invention and accidentally ended up in the sixties and thought it fun to impress a Beatle. I'm stupid and now I'm stuck. I'm really sorry for all the trouble I caused. I'll leave now and grow old and_ die_ by the time I'm born." She wiped her tears away and stood up.  
"Wait," said John, grabbing her hand. "How did you know how to work the timewatch if you didn't invent it?"  
"I helped Uncle Bill make it. His fingers are too big to get to all the little pieces."  
"Then can't you recall anything about making it?"  
"Yes, but not enough to completely remake it. And I'll need materials that probably haven't even been invented yet."  
"Can't you try? Please? You can say with us while you do. Please." He put on his big brown puppy dog eyes look.  
"Why are you pressing this?" She searched his brown eyes with her now cold grey eyes.  
"Because it's gotten boring around here, and ye'd make fer a good distraction. And of course, I'm deeply concerned fer yer welfare, et cetera." Alice giggled, smiling weakly.  
"Okay. But you should probably ask George, Ringo and Paul first," she said, looking at George.  
He stroked an imaginary beard. "A Time Traveller and The Beatles. Could it ever work? Never. But who cares, yer in."  
Alice smiled and threw herself at him, pulling him into a big hug. He laughed nervously, but grinned anyway. Her smile was too infectious to resist.  
"O-Okay, ouch, stop now." Alice stopped squeezing and blushed.  
"Sorry." She let go.  
"Hey," said John, "I'm the one who suggested the idea ye stay with us in the first place. Where's me hug?"  
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself up against him before kissing him exaggeratedly on his cheek.  
"Thank ye Mister Lennon Sir, fer taking me in off the street, I'm forever indebted to ye," she said in poor cockney accent, barely masking her giggles. He laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in her hair, the subtle perfume of shampoo intensified. _She's prettier than I thought she was. But this can't be real. I mean, dinosaurs? The fame must've finally gotten to me head, and I've been thrown in the loony bin. Or I've fallen down the stairs and am slowly bleeding to death. This is just insane.  
_Alice smiled. In fact, she could barely control herself. She was hugging a Beatle. A _Beatle._ In 1963. This was impossible, yet she could hardly deny this man was John Lennon. She was a huge fan of the Beatles, but she daren't say anything for fear of terrifying them. _I may be stuck back in time, a strange a terrifying place to be, _she thought,_ but where and with whom better! Oh, he smells divine. I can't believe this-  
_"Ahem."  
Both John and Alice turned to see George looking on, obviously greatly amused and a little bit left out. They then looked at their pose, a rather close and inappropriate hug that may have lasted a little too long. Alice blushed and John leered while making obscene gestures. George laughed.  
"Come on then, Alice. Ye'd better meet Paulie and Ritch," George said, offering a hand. She took it daintily and stepped lightly off with George, John trailing behind.  
Paul and Ringo were still asleep and neither George nor John wanted to deal with cranky hung-over Beatles, so they made tea and interrogated Alice.  
"Just answer the question ma'am," John slammed his fist down on the bench, "and we'll go easy on ye."  
"I take my tea white, no sugar. This isn't part of the interrogation you know," she said giggling.  
"Of course it isn't ma'am," he said tapping his nose.  
George handed her the cup of tea and rolled his eyes behind John's back. She laughed, nearly spilling her tea. John turned around cock-eyed and glared at George.  
"No entertaining the perp, Detective Harrison."  
"What if she's a real looker?" He waggled his eyebrows.  
"Rules are rules."  
Alice laughed even harder, nearly falling off her chair. She quickly regained composure, coughing quietly.  
"Okay, first question. Are there flying cars in the future?" John turned into a mock reporter, holding his imaginary notepad and pencil up.  
"Nope. Even if there were, we'd have no money to buy them and no petrol left to fuel them."  
"What is going on with yer accent? Ye sound like yer English or Liverpudlian and it's all over the shop," asked George.  
"I'm Australian, but I never had a very strong accent, and I picked up bits of proper English on my travels and I was raised by me Uncle Bill, who is from Liverpool."  
"Why did yer Uncle raise ye?" John asked.  
"My Ma and Pa died when I was a kid. My closest relation was Uncle Bill, on my mother's side. I must've been about five or six, because he chose to stay in Australia until I finished school, but every school break he takes me back to England. It's great fun, travelling," she said wistfully, "but I can hardly remember my parents, and sometimes I wish I knew them, knew where I came from and stuff," she finished lamely.  
John looked down. "I'm sorry 'bout yer parents. I know how ye feel, sort of," he murmured.  
Alice bit her lip. She knew all about John's childhood, but saying anything would probably freak him out. She decided to change the subject. "Um, so, what albums have you guys released so far?"  
"Just two," said George, "_Please Please Me _and _With The Beatles._ How many do we end up releasing?"  
"That's classified information, sweetheart. In any case, they are fucking splendiferous," she said, beaming at the two men.  
"Tut tut, such language from a lady," John remarked with an air of mock offense. Alice snorted.  
"Lady my arse," she said, stretching. She sat up suddenly, a serious look on her face.  
"Do you guys feel like pancakes?"


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, three very full and very satisfied people sat around the kitchen table, groaning.  
"Too many paaaancaaaakess," moaned Alice.  
"But they were begging to be et," said John, "an' they were all shoutin' at me, 'Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!' an' I don't like playin' favourites."  
"How did ye learn to cook like that, woman? Ye'll be cookin' fer us full time now," smiled George.  
"I have to warn you now, I can only cook sweets," she said and looked around the now messy kitchen, "and you can clean up after. I ... am allergic to cleaning."  
"Deal," said John and George.  
"Who made pancakes without tellin' me?" A very sleepy and bedraggled Ringo had appeared in the doorway. He pouted. "You know I love pancakes."  
"Sorry Ringo," said John sheepishly.  
"And neither of ye know how to cook," Ringo continued, looking confused.  
"This," said George grandly, "is Alice." Alice waved. "She knows how to cook. And she may be from the future."  
"The future eh? Ha ha, yer hilarious, George," said Ringo pulling up a chair.  
"But I am. What's the date today?" Alice asked. She gazed at Ringo, his perfect blue eyes, his messy brown hair, his actually-not-that-big-in-person nose.  
"Twenty-fifth of November 1963."  
"Hmm... the only thing that comes to mind is that JFK is being buried today. And the very first Doctor Who episode premiered yesterday. How can I prove it to you?"  
Ringo scratched his head.  
"So me seeing a dinosaur isn't proof?" John raised an eyebrow. "Ringo, ye know I wouldn't lie to ye."  
"Yes, but John, yer known fer yer stupid jokes. And as fer proof, you could tell me what happens tomorrow. Or you could show me yer Time Travel in person."  
"I can't. It broke and now... now I'm... stuck," Alice murmured. She felt tears well up in her eyes again and she looked away.  
"Oh love," said Ringo, "don't cry. Can we fix it?" Ringo had his doubts, but the poor girl seemed terribly upset. And most girls would be over the moon to be in the presence of a Beatle, not to mention a whole household of them.  
"Oh my god," she said, "I am Queen Stupid of Dumbarsery. Of course I can freaking prove it to you." She pulled a slim, shiny tablet out of her pocket. She pressed a button on it and the screen lit up.  
"What the hell is that?" John asked."  
"This is an iPhone. It's a mobile telephone. And it has a touch screen. Look," she said as she tapped the screen to open the music folder.  
"A mobile what?" George stared at the screen in delight.  
"A mobile phone. They get invented around the eighties, I think. And this is the latest advance, a part of the Apple chain. They started with iPods, these little things that play music, but then they got fancier, touch screens and stuff. Normally, it has the internet, and-"  
"The what?" Ringo asked confusedly.  
"Oh, never mind. It'll take way too long to explain. But here, listen to this." She flicked through the artists until she got to 'B'. With a click, _Please Please Me_ was playing through the little speakers. The three men all gasped.  
"Gear," said John, "but how on Earth does that even work? Are you a witch?"  
Alice laughed. "No, just a Time Traveller. Now, tell me: are you working on a song from your next album yet?"  
The boys huddled together, muttering quietly. John's head popped up. "There is one. It kinda goes like this," he said and started whistling something that sounded vaguely like _I Should Have Known Better.  
_"Oh, I like that one." She brought up the album and played it.  
Gobsmacked, the three Beatles eagerly listened to the song.  
"You really are from the future..." Ringo's eyes widened, a flicker of terror replaced by sheer wonder. "Are there flyin' cars?"  
"No. But there is a black president in America. He's a pretty cool dude." She sighed, and pulled out her timewatch. The Beatles had swooped on the iPhone, excitedly exploring the new technology.  
"Hey, now don't go looking through your music. You have to think of that for yourself," said Alice sternly.  
"Yes mum," chanted the boys. Alice had to laugh, despite the growing ache in her heart. She looked down at the watch, opening it gently. The dissonant clicking and whining started again, sending shivers up her spine. She traced the spider web cracks with her finger, biting her lip, trying furiously to hold back her sobs.  
"Oh love, why so blue?" A hand on her shoulder startled Alice. She turned and met Paul McCartney's big brown doe eyes. He wasn't her favourite, but Alice couldn't deny he was pretty cute.  
"Oh, I'm kind of ... lost," she said, trying her hardest to smile.  
"From where?" His polite tone unnerved Alice.  
"Oh, f-from... er-"  
"Paulie, come look at this!" John called. "It's Alice's," he pointed, "and she's from the future." John beamed at Alice. Paul turned back to Alice and raised an eyebrow.  
"The future? Ha, good one Johnny, but I'm not falling for it this time. Do I smell pancakes?"  
"Paul, we aren't kidding," said George, holding up the iPhone with a grin.  
"She's great! She took me to see the dinosaurs! We nearly got et," John laughed.  
"She can cook!" George drooled.  
"I haven't really got anything to say. But I have a good feelin' about her," he said wiggling his fingers in a mysterious way.  
"Why are you trying to sell her to me?" Paul asked, eying the group suspiciously.  
John stood, and clapped a hand on Paul's shoulder. "We _may_ have invited her to stay with us while she fixes her time watch. Oh, Paulie," he said, picking up on his dissatisfaction, "come on, it'll only be a couple of weeks, and besides, when she's fixed it, she'll take us on a trip through time!"  
Paul frowned. John attention was notoriously hard to hold, and he was eager to record some more songs in the coming weeks. This girl, if she even is a "time traveller", would be a big distraction for John. Even George and Ringo seemed to be sidetracked by this girl.  
"Are you sure you'll still want her next week?"  
The three men nodded, still smiling like fools.  
"And you promise to not be distracted by her, and we can actually do some work?"  
They nodded again.  
"Well, I suppose that settles it," said Paul resignedly. Alice squeaked and gave him a bone crushing bear hug. _Somehow, _thought Paul, _I think this was a very bad decision. _He glanced at the three other Beatles, who looked ecstatic at the notion of a fun, new, time-freaking-travelling room-mate. _Very bad indeed._


	4. Chapter 4

Alice had insisted that since she had taken John on a trip, he should show her around 1960s London. John had happily obliged, suggesting that if she would be staying for an indefinite amount of time, she would need firstly to know the lay of the land and secondly, how to blend in. This entailed Alice dragging John through dozens of op-shops for dresses from the fifties, through fancy department stores for shoes (and Alice briefly "lost" John while she bought underwear) and finally, she made him try on jeans.  
"Why are you making _me_ try on jeans?" John whinged from in the changeroom.  
Alice sighed. "Girl jeans suck in the sixties. But man jeans are rather excellent. Make sure they're loose-ish."  
John unlocked the door and poked his head round the door, acting shy and bashful. Alice rolled her eyes and pulled the door open. John struck a pose and batted his lashes. "Do you think I'm sexy?" he said a girly American accent.  
"Oh, I think you're something alright," she laughed. John continued to prance about but Alice inhaled shakily, leaning back on the wall. _I am in 1963. I am not born for another forty years. I am standing next to John Lennon. He has been dead for thirty years. This is impossible. _Her head swam and she quickly became light-headed. John had noticed her shaking and helped her into the seat in the corner of the cramped dressing room.  
"Oh gosh, I'm sorry... It's just, well, you know," she stammered, her voice wavering. John's concerned eyes searched her face.  
"It's fine," she insisted, "it's just that being here, _now_", she waved her fingers about to add emphasis, "is very... overwhelming," she said with a faint reassuring smile.  
"Are ye sure it isn't just exhaustion from all this shoppin'?" John raised his eyebrow.  
Alice laughed, playfully swatting his face. "You, sir, are very silly. And also maybe half-right, yes, I'm hungry."  
"Lunch it is."

John had taken Alice out exploring; Paul was busy in the music room, picking out new tunes rather violently on the piano; George was reading a thick novel and Ringo was bored. He didn't want to bother Paul, it was best to let him get on with his writing; so he decided to pester George, who lay sprawled over the lounge with various limbs dangling off the edges, the book held up to his nose. Sneaking past George's feet, he slipped into John's room and after navigating the immense pile of junk in his wardrobe, Ringo found the hidden treasure. He returned silently to the lounge room. He knelt at the end of the couch, and, using a small balled-up piece of paper, aimed the slingshot squarely at the book and fired, ducking as soon as he let go. George sat up, not quite knowing what hit him and upon seeing no one there, he returned to his book, muttering several words that should not be repeated. Ringo barely suppressed his laughter and sat up and fired again. George sat up again and swore. He grumbled and lay down again. Ringo waited a few more minutes this time, and just as he fired, George removed his nose from the book and caught the ball of paper. Ringo's jaw dropped.  
"Don't mess with me, son," said George in a deathly solemn way.  
"I'm three years older than you!" exclaimed Ringo.  
"I know what I said. Run along."  
Ringo meekly stood and started to walk away, before turning and leaping at George. They fought briefly, laughing all the way before a cranky looking Paul turned up.  
"What are you two doing?" He sounded weary of their childish antics.  
"Just play fightin', Paul. What happened to you? Yer really ratty today-"  
"I AM NOT RATTY, GEORGE. I'm just sleep deprived. Now will you keep it down, I am trying to write something." He turned on his heel and stormed back to the music room. He thought he heard mutinous whispers as he left but decided to pick his battles. He considered slamming the door behind him, but then he'd have to deal with uncooperative band mates. He sat at the piano and moaned, holding his head in his hands. _Why am I such a snit sometimes? Ringo and George didn't do anything, I'm just mad at John for letting that strange girl stay with us. _He didn't believe that she was from the future for a minute. _Probably some desperate fan slipping things in John's drinks and putting lies in his head._ He tapped a few keys on the piano in front of him, creating a jarring melody.  
"What is _wrong_ with me today," he murmured.

Paul finally left the piano after a futile hour of thumping out dissonant chords. He was about to open the front door to set off for a walk when it opened in his face. John and Alice were carrying several shopping bags, laughing quietly. Alice stopped instantly after she saw Paul's death gaze. John smiled at Paul, either oblivious or purposely ignoring Paul's grimace. "Where are you off to then?" he asked Paul.  
"Walk. Fresh air. Can't play." He strode out the door, barely acknowledging Alice, who, as soon as Paul was out of sight, groaned.  
"I don't think he likes me much," she said quietly as they stepped through the door and dumped the pile of bags.  
"Don't get too hung up on him, love. He'll come 'round, he's just a tad... unsettled by ye," said John before he hastily changed the subject. "Ye should show George and Ringo yer new clothes. Especially that red one. I'm havin' a nap." He smiled and walked off to his room. Alice dug through the bags and found her new prized possession. She opened and closed a few doors before she found the bathroom and swiftly undressed and slipped into her newest acquisition.

George and Ringo now sat side by side on the lounge, talking about what they would do with a time machine over a cup of tea when Alice shyly walked into the room.  
"Hullo-I-bought-some-new-clothes-this-is-one-John-said-I-should-show-you-two-so-tada," she mumbled.  
There was a silence as George and Ringo stared at the transformed creature in front of them. Alice was clad in a rather tight, red, velvet dress. The neckline was a modestly flat v-shape, the straps off the shoulder. It was fitted tightly around the bust and waist, a black silk sash accentuating her waist, then flowed out from the waist, the full skirt just skimming her knees.  
"Wow," said George softly. Alice blushed, almost matching the deep red of her dress.  
"Thank you," she mumbled, and she slipped away quietly. She returned shortly after in a plain, royal blue dress. It was a modest dress, with short sleeves covering half her upper arms and only one button undone, leaving her chest quite covered. It fell to just below her knee and was much looser than the red velvet dress. She sat with her legs pulled up under herself in the armchair nearest the full bookshelf and selected a thick volume at random, a trace of a blush still colouring her pale cheeks.  
"Where's John?" Ringo asked.  
"Sleeping," she said softly.  
"Lazy bastard," said George.  
"Actually, I think he has the right idea," Ringo yawned, stretching widely. "See ye later you two," he said as he sloped off to his room. George sat for about three seconds before instinctively reaching for a cigarette and lighter. As he lit it, he heard a small voice from the corner of the room.  
"If I was you, I would cut back on that," said Alice as she peered over the top of her book.  
George laughed.  
"I'm serious. Dead serious, if you'll excuse the pun," she said solemnly.  
George looked startled, and nervously put out the cigarette. He sat and fidgeted for a minute and instinctively reached for another cigarette before catching Alice's reproachful gaze. He fumbled around, trying to stuff it back into the packet. Alice came to sit beside him and took the pack gently from his hands, sliding the cigarette back in easily. She placed it over on the table beside the lounge with the lighter perched atop it.  
"Is that how I die?" asked George suddenly.  
Alice looked down and sighed. She knew she wasn't supposed to do this, but she maintained it was for the greater good, and not just the selfish reason of keeping her favourite band together. She placed a hand upon his and gazed into his dark eyes. "I'm sorry for frightening you. Promise you'll cut back?"  
He nodded, looking terrified. Alice shifted uneasily in her seat. George's hand twitched toward his pocket where he normally kept his cigarettes. Alice noticed, but decided to let it slide. They sat in silence for several, long, awkward minutes. The desolate silence was broken as a chipper John strode into the cosy lounge room, whistling a bastardised version of _Tell Me Why_. _Well, it was probably early days for that one, _thought Alice. John finished the song with exaggerated jazz hands. When neither Alice nor George acknowledged his presence, he frowned. "Who died?"  
"Me, in the future," said George miserably.  
"Uh, George? We all die some day, son," said John, poorly masking his amusement.  
"Not like that, you twat. I mean sooner than I should. Alice said it was smoking that done it," he said vacantly.  
"Smoking never hurt a fly," said John, "and if you die, we'll just call ourselves the Threetles!" He laughed at that, but Alice's stomach churned. She knew he would not be part of the Threetles joke. _Don't go out on December 8__th__ 1980. Don't go out on December 8__th__ 1980. Don't go out on December 8__th__ 1980._ The words danced upon her lips, the tip of her tongue burned with unsaid warnings. Alice chided herself. She had already accidentally let slip to George and he didn't take it too well. The past must remain the same, no matter how much she wanted to save them both.  
John had noticed Alice staring blankly out the window.  
"You alright, love? You look a bit out of it," he inquired gently.  
"Huh? Wha- I wasn't doing anything, what are you talking about?" She looked at him cockeyed.  
John stepped back. _This bird is a bit strange,_ he thought. "Nothing, nothing at all," he said innocently.  
Alice was indeed having a minor mental breakdown. She was sitting in a room with the two dead Beatles. She was trying her damndest to stop herself from squealing and hugging them. She found herself zoning out of the conversation and instead staring into John's warm honey coloured eyes. She felt the lounge slip from under her, the floor falling towards her then nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Uh, yeah, sorry about the short, bollocksy chapter – school is a bitch and I've about three things due by the end of the week and so little time to even do them, so fanfic has been low on the priority list. I'm really sorry to all the Paul fans. I know he is practically the opposite of how I've written him, but he'll come around, and also, this story needs a villain. I think I've reached a bit of a dead end, so don't expect anything interesting in the next couple of chapters. Did I mention I live on reviews? Because I do. And if you do leave a tasty review, I promise you all a lovely slice of Invisible Pie.**

When Alice came around, she found herself in a delightfully cosy bed. She heard the quiet mutter of familiar Liverpudlian accents, and as she stretched, her arm met a warm lump. "Sorry," she mumbled to the soft mass. She blinked up at the figure sitting beside her. John peered down at her. "Hullo," she mumbled. His face was pale.  
"I was worried. I've never had a bird faint in me living room," he said quietly.  
"I have," said George, who was sitting in the corner of the bright, white room, smoking a cigarette. Thin, smoky tendrils coiled around him.  
"Liar," said John, "prove it!"  
"Mary Caldwell, 1956. It was a summery day, and I'd invited Mary round to see my big, hard-"  
"Perhaps that is enough of that story, hmm George?" said John.  
"I was only going to say guitar," he protested. Alice laughed. She tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but she slid back into the bed. She tried again in vain, achieving the same results. John helped her up the third time, gently lifting her up beside him. She could now see the entire room; dazzling white walls were punctuated with two mahogany shelves crammed with books and funny little knick knacks and sandwiched between the two was a window overlooking London, a beaten up old acoustic guitar rested in the corner beside George, carpeting the floor was plush, scarlet shag. A set of steps ran around the room, from the corner beside the bed to the right hand side of the door, creating a landing. A tall wardrobe sat to the right of the bed, sagging slightly. Beside the bed, a small, thin cupboard barely reached the height of the bed, and held an old-fashioned (well, it would be new-fashioned today) lamp and several battered paperbacks, the topmost being J.D Salinger's _Catcher in the Rye_. Alice shivered. She had heard somewhere that that novel had inspired Mark David Chapman to shoot John.  
She glanced out the window; dusk was falling. The sky was an enchanting blend of purple and blue, dotted with one or two silvery specks.  
"How long was I out?" Her voice sounded strange in her mouth, like she was merely a puppet.  
"Few hours, I think," said George.  
Alice smoothed her dress out. "That tends to happen when you time travel, especially if you are displaced for longer than a couple hours. John, did you fall asleep quickly and deeply?"  
He nodded.  
"Good, that should mean nothing is wrong, then. In the early days of experimenting with rats, they came back... mixed up. But when they started fainting, we figured it was their bodies readjusting to the time change. Like major jetlag."  
"When you say 'mixed up'," started John.  
"Well, one did appear with a foot on its head. And a few were spliced together, but we eventually ironed out the kinks. Don't look at me like that, I told you we fixed it!" John had been anxiously clutching at his head, searching for a nonexistent stray foot.

There was a soft knock at the door. It was Ringo. "That's where you are! I woke up and ye'd all gone. I thought there might have been a zombie apocalypse or something," he admitted shyly.  
"Ringo, sometimes I wonder about you," said John with the faint trace of laughter in his voice.  
"Haha, yer very funny. I was wonderin', maybe we should go out fer dinner or something," he said. "You could give that new dress a whirl," said George, grinning wickedly. Alice blushed.  
"But what will the press think?" A new voice had entered the room. "The Beatles out with an unknown mystery girl. It won't look very good for us," sneered Paul McCartney.  
"Paul is right," said Alice. "There is no record of me in the past, so we should just lay low, maybe I could whip something up for dinner... a quiet night in or something," she finished quietly.  
Paul smirked. That, Alice was soon to learn, was his smug face.  
"You can't be serious McCartney," said John. "We're grown men, and Alice certainly looks old enough to make her own decisions. We're going out," he growled with a sense of finality.  
"John," Alice started as delicately as she could, "perhaps Paul has a point. I mean, it's not like I am a permanent fixture, and if the press were to get the scent of this, well, that would be bad... very bad indeed. Please, let's just stay in tonight?"  
John opened his mouth, fully prepared to kick and scream and fight, but was stopped when Alice flinched. She looked quite frightened actually. John was speechless. Did that mean that everyone in the future knew of his volatile temper? "Okay," he muttered, not quite knowing what to say or do.  
Alice smiled, grateful that he did not get angry at her. From what she had heard, she did not want to be on the receiving end of John Lennon's temper.  
"I think I'll see what you guys have to cook. I'm in an Italian mood, molto bene," she said lightly, and skipped off to the kitchen. The four Beatles exchanged looks, but did not say anything until Alice was well out of earshot.


	6. Chapter 6

**I've not really got any plan for the rest of the story, so hopefully, if I write enough fluffy chapters, maybe an excellently awesome idea will hit me. Hopefully. Anyways, enjoy the chapter and keep them reviews coming okay? Or I'll kill 'em all off. Except Ringo. Gotta love Ringo.**

Ringo knew exactly when to lay low, and that was one of those times. He had almost gotten used to the fights, but every now and then there was a bad one, a fight that would shake up the band for a few intense days. George rarely got into fights, but when he did, it seemed to Ringo that he was the only sane man.  
John was facing the window. Ringo could see Paul itching to start something. George, who was normally relaxed and easygoing, looked tense, his vacant expression emphasising his gaunt features. Ringo knew this would be a bad one. He slipped out of the room before anyone had a chance to start yelling.  
He slunk through the cosy little house. _Any minute now_, he thought. As he rounded the corner into the living room he heard an indignant cry that sounded suspiciously like Paul. He rolled his eyes. A rather loud string of expletives echoed down the corridor. He sped up, not wanting them to come looking for him if they needed a scapegoat. He reached the kitchen and opened the door cautiously. Alice was nervously chopping onions. She had her back turned to Ringo and he could see she was shaking a little.  
"Hullo there, Alice," Ringo tried. She dropped the knife with a clatter. She did not, however, turn around.  
"Hi Ringo," she said evenly. He saw her rub her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Onions always make me cry," she said sadly. She turned around and faced Ringo. "They're fighting about me, aren't they?"  
Ringo did not say anything, but put his arm around her shoulders. She put her arms round his neck, burying her face in his shirt. He patted her on the back awkwardly for a few moments but eventually he gave in and hugged her back.  
"I-I'm sorry for coming back an'-an' ruining the band," she mumbled into Ringo's damp shirt.  
"Love, they've had worse fights than this. Although this is the first time John is demanding something stays. Normally he's the one debating everything. When I first met you-"  
"-all the way back this morning," interjected Alice.  
"-you and John seemed friendly, but I honestly thought Macca'd fall for ye, that he'd be the one begging John to let ye stay."  
"You mean Paul is trying to kick me out? But I've nowhere else to go! I thought he was supposed to be the charming one," she growled.  
"John always gets what he wants," said Ringo, "and he really wants you, you're not going anywhere." He smiled down at Alice, who had stopped crying.  
"Ringo, you are severely underappreciated." She kissed his cheek and returned to cooking, humming an operatic tune. Ringo blushed a little, and started to help.

Back in John's room, the fight had began moments after Ringo scarpered.  
"John, I don't like her," stated Paul.  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, yer majesty, I'll throw her out for yer convenience, shall I?" he spat. "She's got nowhere to go! Have a heart you bastard."  
"Dear pot love kettle! How dare you accuse me of not having a heart, John fucking Lennon! A fucking mystery girl turns up on our doorstep-"  
"-balcony," said George.  
"Whatever, you just let her in? She could just be another stupid fangirl for all we know! This isn't _your_ band, John-"  
"S'not yours either, Paulie," said John sweetly.  
Paul yelled. "Goddamnit John!"  
"Goddamn what, Paul? That sweet kid out there? Me? The Band? I don't think you need any help from God to ruin this band!"  
"I am_ not_ trying to ruin the band! I'm concerned about it! What if this girl breaks up the band-"  
"-She will thanks to you! If you would both just calm the fuck down, we wouldn't be fighting, and the band would be safe!" yelled George who had been sitting perfectly still before. He had stood up and was glaring at the pair of them. "Paul, just calm down, she'll only be staying for a week or two; John, don't rile him up, you just like to argue, we know," he said pointedly. "Now, shake and make up," he ordered.  
John and Paul stared at each other, scowling and glowering with all their might. Paul caved first. He plastered his award-winning smile over his face and extended his hand to John. John looked at it as if it were unclean.  
"Apologise to Alice," he said stonily, arms crossed.  
Paul's smile faltered. "Fine," he breathed and John shook his hand, smiling saccharinely.  
George relaxed slightly. The fight was over for now, although who know how long the peace would last?

Alice and Ringo were dancing about the kitchen when the other Beatles reappeared. Alice was viciously beating cream and cheese together and Ringo was shuffling strips of bacon and onion around a pan. The kitchen looked as though a bomb hit it. A fine layer of flour coated the bench, scraps of bacon littered the surface, grated cheese was flung far and wide, and eggshells were left dripping, the dregs of eggs congealing in pools.  
"Oh hi guys," chirped Alice, smiling broadly. "Fettuccini Carbonara for dinner, and cupcakes for dessert!"  
Murmurs of approval answered her. John scooted around Alice and peeked in the oven. The aroma of baking cupcakes filled the kitchen, the heady scent stirring the hunger in everyone's bellies.  
"I'm hungry," said George.  
"You're always hungry," said John, searching for oven mitts. Alice slapped his hand away lightly as it reached for the pair sitting on the bench beside her.  
"Fifteen more minutes, Lennon. They will be perfect then," she chided.  
"But I'm hungry noooow," he whinged. Alice laughed and made her way through the now crowded kitchen to the stove where Ringo was keeping an eye on the bacon. Glancing at the clock, she turned off the pasta and drained it in the sink. "Ringo, bacon off, in a bowl, now please," she said. He fixed it up and brought it over to where she was arranging the pasta into a large bowl.  
"Gracias, muy bueno," she said.  
"Isn't that Spanish?" Ringo asked.  
"Tomayto, tomahto."  
John was staring at Paul, nudging him in the ribs occasionally.  
"Quit it, John."  
"Quit it, John," he mimicked. Paul slapped the back of his head. John punched his arm. Alice turned around and flicked them both with a tea towel. They both fell over in mock pain. George sat on Paul's back. Ringo put a foot on John's back and threw his chest out, like a hunter over his slain lion. Alice giggled, and returned to stirring the Carbonara sauce through the pasta.  
"Okey dokey, dinner's up," said Alice. The four boys leapt up, bounding around like excited puppies, grabbing bowls and cutlery and even lifted Alice up who was holding the bowl of pasta and carried them over to the dining room and sat Alice down on the table. John, who was carrying Alice, gently kissed her forehead. Alice turned a violent shade of red. They all bowed down to her and she played along, lifting the bowl of pasta above her head with a reverent look.  
"Jeez guys, the pasta's going cold," she mumbled, still a bit shell-shocked by John's affection. They all took a seat at the table, which left no space for Alice. John pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. Alice gasped, almost inaudibly. She sat perfectly still, not moving a muscle. The noise of the lads eating, clinking forks against bowls and making general chatter was drowned out. John sensed Alice tense up. He laid his head against her back, trying to relax the girl. She eventually settled down and after they had finished their meal, she lay back into John's arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Thump. Thump. Thud-ump. _Way to go, hippo,_ thought Alice as she stumbled over a pile of books in the pitch black living room. It was well after one am, and Alice could not sleep. She was left to sleep on the lounge about two hours ago when the boys had departed for bed. They had had a marvellous time talking, playing poker and drinking, although Alice had only had one beer and had thoroughly thrashed all four Beatles in poker. Then they had left her all alone in the strange room, in the dark, with a hyperactive imagination. _Stop it,_ she had thought to herself as she curled up in a ball on the couch, burying her head in the blankets, hiding from the shadow monsters she had inadvertently created. She had sat there debating whether or not to disturb one of the lads for nigh on half an hour, before a clap of thunder made up her mind for her and she leapt up and skittered in the vague direction of John's room. She had promptly ran into a wall and had to sit down for a few minutes. She got up again, and as the lightning illuminated the room, she moved swiftly across it. She held onto the wall and slowly and quietly walked along the hallway, feeling around for the nearest door on the left, which she knew was John's room. She shuffled along for a couple more metres before the wall fell into a door and she found the door knob, rather painfully. Holding her smarting palm, she noticed a thin sliver of light glowing from underneath the door. She cautiously raised her fist and knocked.  
"Come in," said John. Alice opened the door and stepped inside, pulling at the hem of her nightdress. In retrospect, that nightdress was, despite its lacy beauty, a stupid idea. Too short, very impractical. John looked up from his book in a mixture of surprise and not unhappiness.  
"I couldn't sleep," mumbled Alice, "could I, er, what I mean to say is, um,"  
"Come on then," he replied, patting the bed beside him. She smiled gratefully, and after closing the door behind her made her way over to the other side of the bed. John lifted the covers as she slipped into it and curled up facing him. He put his book on the night stand and was reaching for the light switch when Alice interjected. "You don't have to turn the light out just for me. Keep reading," she said. John smiled. "I think it's best if I get some sleep," he said, and turned out the light. He lay back and stretched his arms out, allowing Alice to snuggle up close to him, and he wrapped his arm around her as the lightning flickered and the thunder rumbled. Alice jumped a little at the thunder.  
"You're not afraid of storms, are ye?" John whispered.  
"No," she said defiantly, "I'm just... schmurflerg," she mumbled. She felt very sleepy and she could feel her eyelids start to droop.  
John laughed quietly. He looked down at Alice. She was fast asleep already. John smiled. For a girl who was so chaotic, nigh on twitchy, during the day, it was remarkable how peaceful she looked in her slumber.

Alice woke with a start. She rubbed her eyes, and while yawning, tried to stretch, but found she couldn't. A pair of strong arms were wrapped around her waist.  
It was light out, thick beams of sunshine illuminating the room, dust motes catching the sunbeams as they floated, lightly and free, around the room, which she quickly recognised to be John's. _My god what am I doing in John Freaking Lennon's Room oh my god oh my god Arrrgh shut up, _she thought. She tried to get up, but John growled in his slumber and tightened his grip around her waist. "John," she snarled. He moaned softly. "I'm sorry John, but I need to get up," she said, before poking his ribs. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily.  
"Wha' d'ye do tha' for?" He stared up at her, his gaze still piercing despite his weary eyes.  
"Well, you, um, didn't let go. Of me. And I need to get up."  
"Why? It's Sunday. Sunday Sleep-in. An'," he said, checking the clock on the bedside table, "s'only half-eight," he said frankly. Alice sighed. She lay back beside John and pulled a book from the stack on John's beside table. _Pride and Prejudice? Whoa, didn't pick Lennon as an Austen fan,_ she thought as she opened the book and began to read.  
Two hours had passed. Alice had finished the book. Every few paragraphs, she had taken to checking if John was awake. It had become almost a twitch, but John remained dead to the world, his rhythmic breathing the only sound in the room. She twiddled her thumbs for a minute, not quite knowing what to do. There was a soft knock at the door and Alice leapt up, quite forgetting that she was not supposed to be there. She answered the door cheerily. A stunned Paul stood there, mouth agape, taking in Alice's bedraggled state. He turned around and stalked off.  
"Oh cock," muttered Alice. "Paul!" she called as she half ran through the house. She found him on the balcony, angrily smoking a cigarette.  
"It isn't what you think," Alice began.  
"Of course it is. You waltz into the Beatles' house with some cock and bull story of 'being lost, ooh, look at me, I'm from the future' and then you fuck the first one who smiles at ye!" He was shaking, either in anger or because of the cold.  
"Paul, what is your problem? I'm stuck in this fucking decade, it's not like I actually want to be here! Christ, do you know how much I miss the internet? Of course not, we're in the fucking Stone Age, you have no fucking clue what that is! And my Uncle! My dear, sweet, doddering old Uncle, all on his own! I was scared last night, alright? I go to John because he actually gives a shit about me and he lets me sleep _beside _him, not with him, no funny business here! Now I'm accused of being a slut by Paul Freaking McCartney! Quite frankly, this is bullshit!" She finished her diatribe after flailing her arms in frustration. She was panting; her wild eyes trying find the emotion in his impassive brown eyes. He looked down. Part of him wanted to just yell and scream, but that was easily smothered. Another, much louder and more persuasive voice told him to whisper snide comments, bully her, and make her life hell. But eventually a different voice won.  
"Alice, I'm sorry."  
"Que?"  
"I admit, I am sceptical about your story about being from the future, but the lads believe you, and I suppose that's good enough for me. I shouldn't have been such a bastard to you; I was just worried you'd break up the band. And the band really means a lot to me," he said bashfully.  
"So I've heard. Thank you, for apologising and such. Can we start over?" He looked at her extended hand and shook it.  
"Alice Shackleton."  
"Pau- _James_ Paul McCartney. But don't call me that."  
Alice laughed and hugged him. He hesitantly reciprocated. They stood for a few moments before breaking the embrace.  
"Well, it's good to see you two getting on," said John, leaning on the doorframe, "_finally_," he added, looking pointedly at Paul, who feigned astonished offense.  
"Anyways," continued John, who was still in his pyjamas (which, Alice noted with glee, consisted of a tight black tee shirt and low slung, baggy, purple pants), "I am hungry, woman, make me breakfast," John stated in a posh English accent as he pointed at Alice. She narrowed her eyes.  
"If you were any kind of chauvinistic pig, you'd ask for a sandwich," she muttered.  
"What was that?"  
"Nothing," she said sweetly as she skipped off to the kitchen.


	8. Chapter 8

**Still trying to figure out the proper plot, so you all have to deal with filler for now. Did you know that fanfiction writers obtain 95% of their daily required nutrients from reviews and constructive criticism? Hell, even plain old criticism would be welcome (Not really, but you know, it's not like  
I can stop you).**

The other Beatles were up within minutes of Alice starting to cook, apparently roused by the delightfully enticing aroma of bacon and eggs.  
"Mornin' love," said George sleepily.  
"Good morning, Georgie-pants," she chirped as she slid some eggs onto his plate.  
"Georgie-pants?" George groaned. Ringo, who was seated beside him laughed.  
"Good morning, Alice," he managed through his laughter.  
"Morning Ringo," she smiled sweetly.  
"Why no embarrassing nickname for him?" demanded George.  
"What embarrassing nicknames are there? Ringo Dingo? Ringy-Wingy? Captain Nosy Nose?"  
"Ey!" Ringo exclaimed, looking hurt.  
"Sorry Ringo. Plus, Ringo is already a nickname, right?"  
"'sactly. Ner ner," he said before poking his tongue out at George, who returned the favour with an impolite gesture involving a finger.  
"What about us?" John and Paul chorused.  
"Hmm. Paul can be McCharmy-pants and John can be plain old Sexy-Pants," Alice said matter-of-factly.  
"That is the best nickname I've ever had," said John lustfully through a mouthful of bacon.  
"Oh, so they get excellent adjectives for their nicknames, and I get Georgie? That isn't fair. Everyone treats me like a kid," said George, pouting exaggeratedly.  
"Well, it's Georgie-Pants or Skinny-Britches. Make your choice," she said with an air of formality.  
"I'll take Georgie-Pants," he said as he helped himself to another few strips of bacon.  
"And as to people treating you like a kid," Alice added, "yer probably older than me. How old are you now?"  
"Twenty."  
"You're old," Alice said seriously.  
"Why? How old are you?" asked John.  
"Oh, erm, s- ssneverknhmmm," she stammered.  
"What was that?" Said all four men in unison.  
"S-seventeen," she smiled nervously.  
She noticed John's eyes darken and she quickly busied herself with the dishes lying all about the kitchen.  
"Ah, lass, yer too young fer us! Ye come in here and tempt us in that short dress..." said Paul but stopped when he saw John looking murderously at him. Alice continued to scrub the frying pan violently, apparently not noticing the copious amounts of water soaking the front of her dress.  
"So," said George, "what shall we do today?"  
"Well, I was going to start fixing the timewatch today..."  
"Alice, it's Sunday! We don't do work on Sundays," said Ringo, laughing.  
"You're not- you don't do that 'cos you're religious, do you?"  
They all looked at each other before the room erupted into laughter. Alice had to smile. They were at their best when they were all laughing, having fun. After several minutes of hysterics, they finally sat up.  
"No love, we're just immeasurably lazy," answered John, "and while we're in the studio, you can hang about with Neil or Mal or even Brian – if ye can bear his company- fixing the timewatch. Don't want ye having fun without us," he said flippantly.  
"Anyway," said Ringo, "why don't we give Alice a good and proper-"  
"Shag?" John interrupted.  
She blushed furiously and hid in the cupboard. After several minutes George had coaxed her out and she had proceeded to hide from John behind George. John, however, insisted on tickling Alice, which led to a mad chase around the kitchen, Alice squealing as all four Beatles chased her, John trying to tackle her. In the end, he won, pinning her on the lounge and tickling her till she couldn't breathe, tears of laughter dampening her eyelashes.  
"Stop it," she shrieked between fits of laughter and choked breaths.  
"Never, mwahahaha," cackled John. Alice continued to squirm and writhe, her laughter now reduced to raspy breaths.  
"Fear not, fair maiden," said George, "for I shall save you!" He leapt at John from the side, tackling him to the floor. They wrestled briefly, but John, having the weight advantage (not difficult when you're fighting George 'Skinny-Britches' Harrison) won.  
"Now, my pretty," he leered at Alice, "where was I?"

After several more attempts to tickle Alice which ended in Alice locking herself in the bathroom and showering, the lads finally settled down. They decided the best thing to do was to plan a surprise outing for Alice.  
"I say the aquarium," said Ringo.  
"I say the art gallery," said George.  
"No way, we should go find a carnival, I'm desperate for some fairy floss," said Paul.  
"Yer all wrong. Well, half wrong. We should take her to th..." he dropped his voice to an inaudible whisper as the rest of the Beatles crowded in to hear.

Alice stood under the hot water, relishing the warmth, inhaling the thick, steamy air. Even though it had only been twenty four hours, she felt as if she knew the Beatles properly, not just the shallow stereotypes shown in their films. Ringo was more mischievous than she thought he was, George was quite talkative and rather cute and Paul was not what she'd expected. He was nice enough now, but he had been quite horrible to her when she first arrived. She smiled as she thought of John. He was like sex personified, yet still utterly mad. And although she had heard recounts of his temper, he was still very sweet. _I suppose it's a different story when he's drunk, _she thought as she scrubbed her shoulders. She hummed an old tune to pass the time but couldn't resist belting it out. "Well shake it up baby now, shake it up bay-by, twist and shout, twist and shout, come on, come on baby now, come on bay-by, come on and work it on-"  
"Keep that racket down," a muffled shout came from outside the door.  
"Shut up, Lennon! Do me a favour and grab me some clothes? I forgot to bring some in. Don't get me anything too outlandish, you hear?"  
"I won't," he lied.

Alice resigned to the fact she would have to face the cold air eventually and braced herself. She dashed out of the shower, only to realise she hadn't a towel, and there were no spares in the bathroom. _Eep.  
_"John? John? Joooooooohn?"  
"Yes love?" He tried to open the door with Alice's clothes, but Alice was leaning against it.  
"Hey, what is this? Lemme in," he said.  
"Yeah, there are no towels."  
"No towels?"  
"Yes."  
"So yer naked?"  
Silence.  
"Yes," she said exasperatedly.  
Silence again.  
"John?" she called softly. "Can I have me clothes an' a towel?"  
"Shush, I'm thinking."  
"Come on you pervert. You ain't seeing me naked," she said_. Yet,_ she thought with a smile on her face.  
The door opened a crack and John threw in a towel and a dress.  
"Oi," she yelled. A pair of underpants and bra flew in reluctantly. "Haha, yer very funny, Lennon."


	9. Chapter 9, Chapter 9, Chapter 9

Alice emerged from the steamy bathroom, dressed in a simple, sleeveless, black floral dress. She found the shopping bags from the day before in the hall and rifled through until she had found a coat, stockings and shoes. John had been awfully generous with his money, but she supposed that was something the Beatles were rarely light on. The coat was magnificent; a mix of dark cerulean and cobalt in colour, double-breasted with silver buttons running from the neck to the waist in a sort of military fashion. The reason she bought it – apart from its beauty and style – was that she had seen it before. She owned this coat in the future. It was quite eerie actually. Uncle Bill had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday – he had found it in the attic in a box of vintage clothes. In fact, she had rummaged around in the attic and found a pile of clothes from the fifties and sixties, all of which she bought with John the day before, in 1963. She made a mental note to firstly, leave her clothes in a box somewhere safe and secondly, to check for anything else when she got home because surely, if you travel back in time and meet your favourite band, you'd want something – something material, to make sure you weren't making it up – to remember it by.  
She slipped into the stockings and put on her new - to become her old, vintage - brown leather lace up flats. Since there were no mirrors to be found, she simply assumed she looked gorgeous (_ha! _said a snide little voice in the back of her head) and made her way out to the living room.

All four Beatles were awaiting her return, it would seem. They all grinned broadly, too broadly as she entered the room. Nobody spoke and Alice eyed them all suspiciously.  
"Alright, what's going on, what are you planning?"  
"Nothing," they chorused.  
She raised an eyebrow.  
"It's a surprise," said George with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.  
"We're going on a day trip," said Paul.  
"Way to give it away you twat," said John. "Come on love, we're taking you out for a proper adventure of the sixties."  
And with that, they marched her out the front door and out into the world.

"So, where exactly are we going?" Alice sat in the middle of the backseat, wedged between Ringo and George. They had been driving for about an hour. Alice had been excitedly watching 1960s London flying past the window,  
"It's a secret, madam," said Paul in a stuffy English accent from the driver's seat.  
"A sort of magical, mystery tour!" said John excitedly, turning around to face Alice, beaming madly.  
"Wrong year, love."  
"What?"  
"Nothing. So, a mystery tour, eh? Sounds like... an _interesting_ day out," she said, quietly remembering the film. Back in the present day, she had watched the film with her friend and fellow Beatles fangirl, Jacqueline. She figured most of the humour was lost on the sober. They had spent the afternoon either sharing confused looks or screaming laughter at the bloody bizarreness of it all.  
"Oh ho, interesting doesn't cover it," said George, nudging her and pointing out the window. She peered out. They had stopped in a little country lane, beside a large field. Alice raised an eyebrow.  
"There's a lake, too," said John.  
"I've not got any swimmers," said Alice.  
"That's the fun bit!"  
"But it's cold! It's No-flipping-vember!" Alice pulled her coat tighter.  
"Man up," said George.  
"But-"  
"Come 'ead," said Paul as he got out of the car. The four remaining passengers followed suit. A brisk wind buffeted about Alice, who caught her skirt just in time before the wind picked it up. The field was beautiful. The sky was stained grey, with ominous storm clouds far away, over the surrounding hills that were pale violet, dotted with greeny-black hedges. Just beyond the dark stand of trees at the end of the field, Alice could just see the far shore of the lake, the dark waters shifting and swirling. The field itself was carpeted in long, flaxen grass which swayed delicately in the wind, rippling as though it were liquid. George, Ringo and Paul had raced ahead, laughing and running, leaving winding trails of trampled grass in their wake. Alice had not noticed John standing beside her, taking in the bleak yet breathtaking landscape, but she felt his warmth and the fleeting touch of his hand gently brushing hers.

Something about the field struck her with nostalgia, an overwhelming feeling of homesickness pushed down on her, catching her breath in her throat and weakening her knees. She was close to falling and grabbed the closest thing for support. John saw her unsteadiness and gently held her upright. She was hardly aware of the strong arms wrapped around her. He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. "You okay?" His voice was muffled. She seemed to relax a little in his arms.  
_Come on you wimp, say something! And stop nearly fainting every time John's around! _She mentally berated herself. "It reminds me of home," she said, trying to regain her composure after her momentary lapse. John hummed softly in agreement.  
"Come on then," she said in a business-like way, "I don't want to ruin your Sunday," she smiled briefly. John produced a picnic basket and blanket from the boot of the car, and, after linking arms with Alice, skipped off towards the three men running about the field.

The picnic basket was filled with food. How they got the food was a mystery to Alice; she had been cooking for them since her arrival, but there it was, a plethora of pies, a cornucopia of cakes, a surfeit of sandwiches and an overindulgence of other things, from jelly to cold cuts, trifle to cupcakes. A bottle of champagne was peeking out of the basket.  
The four boys were happily digging into the feast, passing around plates and dishes, laughing and talking all the way.  
"Champagne, Alice?" John proffered a glass of champagne in one of those flat, shallow, broad-bowled glasses.  
"Oh, I can't, I'm only-"  
"Go on."  
"No no, really, I shouldn't-"  
"Come on, just one."  
"Oh alright."  
"Pushover," he said as he handed her the glass.  
"To the future, otherwise known as Alice!" George held his glass high and winked at Alice. The others followed, the glasses clinking and champagne splashing.  
She laughed dryly and took a sip. Ringo passed her a plate piled high and she began eating, trying not to choke as she laughed at the Beatles' antics.

A couple of hours and several bottles of champagne later, the group were sprawled out on the picnic rug, singing a loud and tipsy rendition of _Twist and Shout_.  
"Swimming!" Paul exclaimed.  
"You are joking, right?" said Alice. The wind had died down and the clouds had thinned, but it was still cold, too cold for swimming.  
"We never joke," said Ringo seriously.  
"No wonder your nose is big, Pinocchio," she sneered, the biting touch of alcohol in her words.  
"Come on," said Paul as he leapt up and tore his shirt off. George and Ringo proceeded to do the same before the three ran screaming towards the thicket of trees.  
"Come on John!" George called.  
"I just need to get something," he called back and grinned at Alice, his brown eyes wild with a mischievous gleam.  
"What?" She eyed him suspiciously, backing away slowly. He stepped closer, still smiling madly.  
"Nothing." He lunged for her and after a brief tussle, hoisted her over one shoulder. She shrieked, trying desperately to hold her skirt down as he started to run after the others.  
"Put me down you bastard!"  
"Never!" He laughed maniacally. Alice sighed, resigned to her current form of transport and watched as the pale blue car bumpily disappeared behind thick, yellow grass at the top of the hill. All at once the distant car flipped over, the sky replacing the ground rather painfully.

John had stumbled over a tussock of grass, sending them both flying forward into a dense patch of grass. She had landed underneath John, who was still laughing, his whole body shaking. He rested his head on her stomach, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath. Alice ran her hands through his hair, which was surprisingly soft, tangling her fingers in it. He raised his head; his calm, smouldering gaze drifting over her, fixing upon her eyes. Smiling, she traced his jaw lightly with her finger, gazing back into his deep brown eyes. He gently brushed a strand of sleek, black hair behind her ear, sliding his hand behind her neck. Hesitantly, he leaned in and placed his lips upon hers. Alice's heart fluttered and her mind went blank; the entire world was condensed into just her and John - no past, no future, just them in the present. John pressed himself against her, placing his other hand in the curve of her waist. Alice broke away, trying in vain to clear her head and restrain herself, and gazing into his eyes, whispered hoarsely: "Swimming?"  
"Swimming," John said, the signature Lennon grin creeping across his lips.

**WOOH, SMOOCHY SMOOCHY TIME. Jeez, Alice, you've only known him for 24 hours. ANYWAY REVIEWS YES PLEASE SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT AND EVERYTHING BUT I WAS BUSY NOT STUDYING FOR TRIALS. SO YEAH.**


	10. Chapter 10

George had slowed to a walk, catching his breath. He had followed Ringo and Paul blindly into the thicket of trees but had now lost them in the gloomy wood. John and Paul came here often to relax and escape the mad fans, and had thoroughly explored the area, but he and Ringo had never been here before, instead content to spend their free time indoors in the city. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _I should go back and find John_. He turned back and heading towards the light, pushed past the thick undergrowth and poked his head round a tree. John was carrying Alice over his shoulder, laughing as she shrieked and pummelled his back. George smiled. Alice had fit in remarkably well in the short period of time she had been with them; a strong connection had been forged in the short twenty-four hours they had known each other. All the lads liked her – she wasn't just some bird or mad fan, she was an equal, a friend. Even Paul, the possessive perfectionist was civil enough, smiling at her occasionally. He leant on a nearby tree, content to just watch the two having fun.

Suddenly, John had tumbled, landing roughly on Alice. George flinched, hoping Alice – sweet, young, intoxicating Alice - was okay. He watched in dismay as John leaned in and, holding her tenderly, kissed her. His fists clenched involuntarily, turning on his heel with a clenched jaw and stormed back into the dark. _Bastard, absolute and utter bastard. I bet he knows I fancy her. Fucking Lennon, always has to prove his masculinity by dragging the nearest woman with nice tits back to his cave. Probably queer, the amount of women he's laid. Quit it, Harrison, now you just aren't making sense, _he thought, head swimming with pictures of Alice and John. _It's not like you were going to make a move.  
_"Still mad," he growled to himself, trampling through the dense undergrowth, following the screams of laughter and the faint glow of cold, English daylight.

Alice stood perfectly still, perched with her toes curled over the edge of the large smooth rock. Looking down into the inky black water, she pondered how cold it was and if she were to freeze, how long would it take for the shadowy depths to consume her? She was quickly brought out of her pensive state with a splash of the cold water she had previously been gazing into. She gasped, stumbling and landing on her backside. Unscathed, she crawled across the rock and peered over the edge, meeting John's wild eyes. He was laughing, wet hair plastered to his forehead and beads of water clinging to his eyelashes and bare, faintly muscled shoulders. Alice caught herself staring at the handsome man before her, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.  
"Wasn't me," he said innocently through an ecstatic grin. "Come in, will you? The water's grand."  
"Never, hahaha!"  
She swung her legs over the rock ledge and squeezed the water out of her dress onto his head. He grimaced as Alice splashed her feet about in the cold water, singing a nameless melody nonchalantly. John disappeared under the water, unbeknownst to Alice, who continued to sing.  
A pair of strong hands clasped around her ankles, a shriek escaping from Alice's lips as she was dragged into the freezing lake.

Under the surface, everything became silent. The scene was eerily familiar, unpleasant memories swelling in her chest. She hesitantly opened her eyes and, in the shadows and the dark, came face to face with a pale, blurry John who reached for her hand, still grinning madly. Her skirt billowed up around her and her feet touched the sandy floor of the lake as she took his hand and stepped into his embrace, searching for something to cling to in the darkness and the unknown. He enveloped her, gently holding her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, but in the embrace; she found her heart racing, sparking a burning in her lungs and a throbbing in her head. She pushed away from John, frantically swimming towards the surface, desperate for air.

She broke the surface and gasped for shallow breaths, the cold air intensified the burning in her lungs. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was; the water had temporarily washed out her memory and bearings. The rock she had been dragged off was in front of her and she gazed up at a rather sullen George who was resting his feet in the cold water. She heard the faint sounds of the other two playing about in the shallows on the beach round the corner.  
"Hello," she breathed. He was shirt and pants-less; his rather lean frame still faintly muscled, but Alice barely noticed, all she could do was try to smother the painful memories of her fifteenth summer. He muttered an inaudible reply. She pulled herself up onto the flat slab of rock and sat on the edge, hugging her knees to her chest. George didn't face her, but took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. Alice's mind went blank; the entirity of the world vanished for a moment, the only sounds were her heart racing and her shaky breaths.

George realised only Alice had resurfaced. "Alice, where's-"  
She gasped."John!" Seemingly on cue, John rose to the surface, gasping and spluttering.  
"What?" He laughed at Alice's terrified expression, her ghostly pale face illustrating her agitation comically.  
"You bastard!" Alice said, all hints of humour in her voice lost. John swam closer to her, preparing his apologetic smile, but she pushed him away with her toe. "You are a total dickhead. You've no concern for anyone - no heart."  
He scowled, the all too familiar feeling of anger seeping into the pit of his stomach. "I was just seein' how long I could hold me breath for, what is yer problem?"  
"Never-freaking-mind," she spat as she stood and stormed off to where Paul and Ringo were gambolling about in the shallows.  
George couldn't help but feel a bit smug, but immediately felt guilty when he realised Alice must have been genuinely upset about something. "Wonder what that was about," George said, trying to hide his optimism from the now seething guitarist, who was treading water. He silently pulled himself up onto the ledge strode off in the direction of the girl without another word.

Paul was splashing Ringo, trying to encourage a water fight as the unresponsive drummer gazed up at the beach, or, more specifically, the exhibition on the beach. Alice was pulling off her sodden dress, revealing cream high waisted knickers and a matching bra, both with lacy detailing. She hung her dress over a rock in the vain hope sunshine would appeared to dry it. Both men felt a little bad for staring, but soon forgot that in the face of Alice's curious beauty, watching her avidly. She stretched and turned, noticing first the two men in the water staring at her and then the slightly awkward pose of her chest thrown forward and a hip cocked to the side she had adopted.

"Pervs!" She blushed and hunched her shoulders slightly before sprinting madly towards the water. Paul and Ringo exchanged looks and laughed, charging towards the girl, arms outstretched wide. Surprisingly, Alice didn't stop, even when she reached the two Beatles running full pelt at her, instead ducking under their arms and turning to face them in the knee deep water. They turned, searching for the girl, noticing her the moment before she fell back into the miniscule waves, arms outstretched.

The two Beatles raced to her where they found her floating on her back, black hair spreading like ink in the water, singing softly to herself."You're mad," said Paul, looking down at her. "Completely and utterly mad."  
"Why thank you, I do try." She grinned and sat up, motioning for assistance. Both men proffered their hands and grabbed her wrists, hauling her upright.  
"Thank you kind sirs," she said, curtseying with an imaginary skirt.  
"Oh, our pleasure," said Ringo, tipping an imaginary cap. Paul twirled an imaginary moustache.  
"How can you look so goddamn fancy without shirts on?"  
"Magic," said Paul with a flourish of his hands, but his grin faltered as he noticed the one thing he was dreading yet somehow completely expecting. John was walking down the beach, and, even from a distance, it was easy to tell he was not happy.

"Hey, why does John look like summin's crawled up his arse and died?" Ringo looked to Alice and Paul felt a pang of annoyance at the girl. Sure, he was no stranger to John's short temper, but Alice seemed to ask to be blamed for whatever had happened.  
"Uh, I'll hazard a guess at me," she said softly, and Paul's heart melted a little. She sounded anxious and scared, and quite frankly, he thought she had a right to feel so, especially being on the receiving end of John's temper. He watched as John sat in the soft sand, mouth set firmly in a line. _Oh dear_, Paul thought. _I knew this was a bad idea._

**Whoa ho! Trouble in paradise, it would seem. And why was Alice so freaky about John's exciting adventure on the lake bottom? Find out in the next thrilling instalment of – wait, I also meant to say, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW or I kill them all off. Ya hear? – where was I? Oh yeah, Find out in the next thrilling instalment of Good Day Sunshine! Until next time, adios amigos. **


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: I had to tweak a few things in Chapters 10 and 11, so firstly, probably a good idea to skim through those two even if you've already read them - things will make more sense and secondly thank you Paisley for being fussy, so much more fussy than Imogene.**

For the rest of the day, John remained alone, sitting silently on the beach, but the other four enjoyed the rest of the day as they could, though guilt (from what exactly, Alice was not sure) weighed down upon her shoulders and heart every time John crossed her mind – much too frequently. She could feel the empty space in the family of brothers that she knew would always be there after 1980. Regardless, George, Ringo and Paul all ensured she had a good day with their witty banter and wild antics. Paul was a riddle. One minute he was cold and uncaring but the next he'd be friendly and warm. Alice was terribly confused, Paul's boyish good looks and flirtatious charm not helping the situation.

The sky had begun to darken, the golden sunlight peeking through the clouds on the horizon. The five had gathered their various items of clothing and meandered up to the car, piling in in absolute silence. Ringo was elected as the driver and George begrudgingly took the front seat as directed by Paul, who was quite determined that Alice and John would resolve their problems on the way home, and as such, took the passenger side of the back seat, placing Alice in the middle and John behind Ringo. John stared out the window, watching the darkened scenery flicker by, mind wandering. He tried to stop thinking about Alice but to no avail, whenever he thought about how bitchy she had been, his mind wandered to thoughts of kissing her, the fleeting images twisting and turning into pure fabrications, wonderful, wicked fabrications. He mentally slapped himself and tried desperately to focus on a tiny scar shaped like Australia on his knuckle. _Where did that come from,_ he wondered, tracing it with his fingernail.

Paul was anxious. Despite nudging her frequently, Alice had not made any attempt to resolve the conflict between her and John. She sat; arms folded and face set, staring straight ahead. Paul was soon to find she was almost as stubborn as John himself. Paul hated conflict; going out of his way to resolve them – although he had a bit of a problem with preventing them. He nudged Alice once more.  
"Touch me again, McCartney, and I will cut your testicles off with a rusty machete," Alice said coldly.  
He sighed, deciding it was probably not the right time nor place to properly sort out their disagreement anyway.

The rest of the trip passed in silence. George and Ringo were too tired to maintain conversations and Paul did not want to worsen anything. When they arrived at the flat, Alice immediately followed John to the balcony.  
"What do you want?" John's voice was cold and he did not turn to face Alice.  
"I want to explain. I should have said something beforehand, but I didn't... know how, I suppose. I've never really had to," she said mildly.  
"Don't bother. I don't give a shit about your fucking insanity," he hissed, intending his words to cut deep, deeper than he really meant, "and I don't give a shit about you."  
Alice clenched her jaw. She would have hit him, but she had heard of his violent tendencies, and she didn't want to aggravate him anymore. It took all of her willpower to not react at all.  
"Fine," she said breezily. She slipped inside, leaving John alone with his thoughts.

George sat in the living room, flipping mindlessly through a book, not really paying attention to it. Paul was in the kitchen cooking dinner and Ringo was having a nap. He heard the steady beat of footsteps growing louder and felt the lounge shift as Alice sat beside him, curling up and leaning against George, her head in his lap.  
"Hey," he said softly, glad for the excuse to throw down his book. She murmured her greetings. He gently stroked her hair, absently humming an unfinished song. After a few minutes, Alice broke the silence.

"My boyfriend drowned. When I was fifteen. That's why I got mad at John." She swallowed dryly, expecting the tears to come crashing down on her but they never came. George didn't say anything, just continued to stroke her hair.  
"He can't blame me for being 'fucking insane', to paraphrase the man himself. It happened on Alex's birthday. Me and him and a little group of friends went down to the river. I was a year younger than everyone else, and they all had booze. I was the innocent little flower, not touching a drop. One of his friends thought swimming at one a.m. was a good idea, and I didn't think- I didn't know anything would go wrong. So I played along – I mean, refusing to drink already made me look lame, not going swimming would just be stupid. Youth is a very stupid thing. You're so sure you'll never die; you never stop and think about the consequences. Anyway, me and Alex go in first. He pulled me to the bottom and kissed me. Stupid romantic bastard," she managed, choking on a sob. "I ran out of breath quickly, so I swam off. I-I thought he could... That he would be able to find his way up, but he had drank way more that I thought he had... Next thing you know, I'm alone on the bank of the river wrapped in a blanket as the paramedics wheel his b-body away." She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing. "Christ, I miss him."

George pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back and murmuring words of comfort in her ear. She didn't cry, but her breath was ragged and she was trembling. George pressed his lips to her forehead, running his hands through her silky hair. He held her close and as she listened to his steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath, eventually she fell asleep in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair, the sweet scent of her shampoo muted somewhat by the lake's waters, yet still aromatic. As he was on the verge of sleep himself, he heard Alice mumble something softly in her sleep. "I'm sorry Alex," she whimpered, and with that, George fell fast asleep.

Alice woke up wrapped in George's arms. She lay with her head on his chest, legs entangled and hands interweaved together. Alice surreptitiously pushed herself closer to him, entwining herself further into her living mattress. He was warm, and as there was no blanket, she snuggled deeper into his arms, warmth and safety washing over her. Pressing her nose to his shirt, she noticed his scent was entirely different to John's, who smelt of soap and sleep (how she knew what sleep smelt like, she didn't quite know, all she could tell was that John definitely smelt like it), George smelt of cigarettes and old books, an unusual yet strangely pleasant combination. She considered freeing herself but the sleeping Beatle refused to let go, deciding for her.

She glanced over at the large red clock hanging above the bookcases and watched the white minute hand click over to twelve, making the time seven a.m. exactly. At that very second, the phone rang, startling Alice off George and subsequently, the lounge. George was apparently woken either by the telephone's shrill ring or the loud thump Alice made as she landed on her behind on the floor. He peered down at Alice. "What are you doing on the floor?" His voice was almost indecipherably deep and raspy in the morning, in no way helped by his thick Scouse accent.  
"I'm tired," she quoted.  
George stretched and reached over for the phone and a cigarette, the rings stopping a suddenly as it had started.  
"Yeah?" Holding the phone to his face with his shoulder, he placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, smoke unfurling from the end of it. He checked his wristwatch and took a long drag. The bitter scent of smouldering tobacco filled the room, as did the billows of smoke, turning milky blue in the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the yellow curtains. George stared at the doorway that led to the kitchen as the caller spoke. "Yeah, I'll tell them, Brian. Oh, I nearly forgot, we've a friend stayin' with us, and she'll be coming in with us today." He jumped away from the receiver, the voice Alice could barely hear before rose several decibels and octaves. "Brian, calm down," he laughed, "she needed a place to stay and we were the only people she knew in town. She's lovely. If you are that hung up about it, she can run errands for you. Okay, see you in about half an hour." He put the phone back into its bright red cradle and sighed. "Always havin' a spack attack about summin', he is," he murmured. Alice sat up, leaning against the lounge, not quite able to focus her vision on anything. George leaned over and kissed the top of her head as he got up to get the rest of the Beatles up and ready for a new day of recording.

**I have such terrible will power. Save this chapter, I thought, get ahead so it's not a major rush to get the bastard finished, and I go ahead and post it. Derp Derp, I like reviews.**


	12. Chapter 12

Alice had dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a plain tee shirt and socks before heading towards the kitchen, desperate for a cup of coffee. Being the first up, she sat on the bench, waiting for the kettle to whistle. She heard George being savaged by the half asleep occupants of the house, the faint hiss of the shower and the muted creaking of bedsprings.

Her mind drifted to faint memories of Alex. Her heart swelled as she remembered his infectious optimism, bright eyes and goofy smile. She closed her eyes and held the picture of the vivacious boy in her mind; forcing tears to her dampen her eyelashes. An empty feeling occupied her heart, pain constricting her lungs.

"Fuck," she whispered between shaky breaths. Someone put their arm around her shoulder, roughly pulling her into a bear hug. She tried to pull herself together, but she found herself burying into the unknown hugger's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. She clung to his shirt, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder. After a few moments of crying softly into his shirt and being held, she pulled away to identify her comforter. John looked at her impassively. Alice pushed him backwards, startled at his gesture, scolding herself for letting him take advantage of her.

"What? I go out of my way to forgive you and all you do is push me away? You," he snarled quietly, "are psychotic."  
Alice couldn't speak as he stormed out of the room. It took a few moments for what he had said to register in her brain and when it did, she leapt up and ran after him. "John! Please," she said as she slid down the hallway in her socks. She skidded towards his door and didn't stop, expecting it to burst open. It did not, and she collapsed in front of the door. "Just lock the door, bastard," she muttered, rubbing her head. The door opened, and she looked up at John who was staring down his nose at her, a cold smirk touching the corners of his lips.  
"Did the widdle future girlie come back to say sorry to Johnny?" He smiled snidely. A little voice in Alice's head told her to be the bigger person, forgive John, and let peace and love reign supreme. That was quickly snuffed and replaced by a burn in her heart and mind.  
"Why would I waste my time?" She scowled and turned on her heel, stalking off towards the sound of the kettle whistling.

The car ride over to the studio was unpleasant, to say the least. The tension permeated the car, mingling with the subtle aroma of past cigarettes that tainted the upholstery. Sandwiched between Ringo and George, Alice was thankful that at least she didn't have to sit next to that bastard. She gazed out the window at the city passing by. The sky was grey and the sparse trees were bare, sloughs of russet brown leaves dappled the streets. Thoughts flitted between John and the water. John had been so lovely to her and all she had done was be concerned for his safety. He was a riddle, and while she knew his childhood hadn't been all dancing about fields of flowers, but neither had hers and it was no excuse. He had just dismissed her apology completely, not even letting her plead her case. _Well, Mister Lennon, two can play at this game._

George had been sneaking glances at Alice, becoming more and more concerned by her ever-deepening scowl. She was pretty enough when she smiled, but with her lips pressed into a grim line and with a furrowed brow, all traces of beauty were dropped. _This will not do,_ he thought mischievously He poked her side, gently pressing her pressure point. She nearly leapt out of her seat, shrieking laughter. She narrowed her eyes at him and grinned.

"You do realise this means war?" She smirked and stretched her fingers, cracking her knuckles and limbering up her digits. She took a meditative pose, provoking strange looks from Ringo and George. She opened her eyes and quickly switched to a fighting stance, fingers at the ready for poke warfare. "Three, two, one, go," said Ringo without looking up from the newspaper he was burying his nose in. George and Alice began attacking each other, poking and tickling, dodging and laughing.

"Keep it down back there, or I'll turn this car around right now and there'll be no hit records for anyone!" Paul smiled; content that at least the mood was lightened a bit. John sat fuming as they pulled up in front of the studio. Alice stopped laughing and fighting at once; for there, at the gates, stood a horde of screaming teenage girls.  
"Eep."  
"You said it," said George.  
"Uh, Paul, quick question: how the fuck am I supposed to get in there without being ripped to shreds?" Alice smiled nervously.  
Paul grinned. "Young grasshopper, you know thy enemy. Become one with the horde."  
"Que?"  
Her question went unanswered as all four men opened their doors and let in the waves of sound.  
"Justin Bieber ain't got nothin' on you lot," she said as she followed George out the door and into the screaming mass.

Thankfully, the girls had not seen the dark haired girl slip out of the car, and as she passed them screaming and swooning, they absorbed her. She very nearly disappeared in the surging mass – hell, she was with the freaking Beatles! She had an excuse to scream for a little - but she pushed her way along, using her height and weight to her advantage.

She made it to the gate and was about to follow the men through the gates when a meaty hand clamped down on her shoulder and made her cry out under his crushing grip.  
"Where d'you think you're goin', love?" The man spoke with a cockney drawl.  
"Let me go," she said. "I'm with them!" She used her free hand to punch him in the stomach, but the brute looked and acted as though he'd been in a fair few fights in his lifetime. Momentarily distracted by the force of her punch, he loosened his grip on her shoulder for just long enough for her to wrench her arm free. He raised his head and she attempted to land a punch on his jaw, but he caught her wrist in his vice-like grip.

Alice had been in fights before, but never with a man like this. _Oh shit_, she thought as he twisted her arm behind her back. She didn't cry out, instead gritted her teeth and kicked her leg out behind her violently. He keeled over as her foot met her target. A smug smile washed across her face as she stood up, straightening her coat.

The Beatles had nearly kept on walking, but George and John both realised they were a person short and darted back to the gate. They saw Alice standing innocently beside the bent over security guard, waiting patiently for them to let her in.  
"What did you do?" George stared at the wheezing man incredulously.  
"Oh, he wouldn't let me in. I had to defend myself. Mind you, good guard skills. Perhaps you should invest in some, ah, _protection _for your male bodyguards. Always know your opponent's weak spots." She grinned at the two men who were staring dazedly at each other. George made to open the gate but John stopped him.  
"Promise to never use your fists of fury against us," he said, punching the air in front of him a few times.  
"Oh, are we speaking again?" _Bad idea._ George shot her a look. "I mean, yes sir!" She saluted.  
George opened the gate as several girls lunged for Alice, shrieking vile names. She dodged them and slipped through the gates.  
"Hey, calm down girls," said Paul, who had appeared after noticing the absence of the guitarists, "she's our new assistant. Have a lovely day!" He ushered the three towards the door and ever the diplomat, turned and waved before closing the door to Abbey Road Studios.

**Ooh lawdy, that Alice sure is nasty sometimes. *Slaps herself* GODDAMNIT, STOP TALKING IN A SOUTHERN ACCENT! Review or I'll eat your soul.**

**Also, now you've finished this riveting chapter, what say you go check out my good friend's story, **_**Girl.**_** It is very good. She asked me to plug it. I didn't have anyone to plug my stories, but I got on just fine. Bitch.**

**Aha, kidding. But seriously, review then read hers. .net/s/6311998/1/**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry for the accidental two month hiatus! I was ****held at gunpoint ****paid in chocolate to actually get off my arse and write this bitch. And I was getting a little bored of the Beatles, so I went off on a trip to the seventies (ugh, Jimmy Page is SUPER babin') and now I'm back. Tada!**

"Ooh, assistant! Sounds fancy! Does that mean I get paid?" Alice asked, batting her lashes at Paul.

"Oh ho ho, don't get big headed lassie. It's only yer cover story, so don't you forget it," he said,

smiling.

The rest of the Beatles marched straight towards the studio while Alice paused in the lobby, feeling awestruck at the impossibility of what was going on. She was with the Beatles, in the place where so much had been and would be created. She stood for a few moments, drinking in the absolute awe-inspiring scene, until a hand clasped around her wrist, fingers digging in slightly. John proceeded to drag her into the studio, muttering something about crazy birds wasting time.

"Brian, Captain Crazy, Captain Crazy, Brian," John said gruffly and turned to set up his guitar.

"Uh, it's Alice, actually. Hi," said Alice and extended her hand. Brian was shuffling through a thick folder crammed full of paper, and struggled to extract a free hand to shake Alice's.

"Pleasure to meet you Alice, although the lads know I don't like surprises DON'T YOU LADS?" He said pointedly to the allegedly oblivious four men who were setting up their instruments loudly and nonchalantly. He shifted the folder to the other arm to check his wristwatch. "Well, I'd really love to stay and chat, but I've a very busy day, and that bloody secretary is late again! Would you mind manning the phones until-"

Brian was interrupted by a loud slam as a harried looking young woman with mousey blonde hair rushed in. Brian dropped his papers in surprise and scrambled to collect them before any of the boys decided to autograph them with the sole of their shoe.

"I'm sorry I'm late Mr Epstein, the traffic was absolutely dreadful, and the girls – oh my god, they were absolutely terrifying today – they nearly had my eye out! Anyways, I chased up that engineer guy, and he's coming to fix that big soundy knobby thing on Wednesday at 9 am, and I got a call from this fancy American photographer, Stephen Cooper, he wants to offer his services for the next album cover, but I told him I'd have to get back to him, because I know we were going to get that guy who did the With The Beatles cover, and I still haven't gotten around to ringing him, but I will today, and I tried – who's this?" She eyed Alice warily, looking her up and down with narrowed eyes. "Is she my replacement? Are you firing me? Oh my god, please, please, please don't fire me! Ugh, I tried so hard here, and I really loved working here, even if I did screw up a lot, just please give me one more chance, pleeeeaas-"

"Do shut up, Katie! You're not fired, this is Alice – a friend of the lads. She's staying with them for a few days-"

"Er, a week or two," corrected Alice.

"-a few days and the lads have decided to keep her close, have her help out a bit, so, for today, she's your assistant."

The two girls exchanged a look which could only be described as a look of pure mischief.

"So, you're actually friends with them?" said Katie, who as soon as Brian had left to run errands, had sat back at her desk, reclining deeply with her long legs draped over the desk. Alice, perched on the desk beside Katie's feet, shrugged.

"To be honest, I've really only just met them. From what I've seen, they're uh... certainly... interesting. But you must see them every day. What are they like to work with?"

It was Katie's turn to shrug. "I don't come into contact with them very often, but they're quite nice.

Especially Paul," she added as she ran a hand through the tips of her shoulder length hair.

"Really? Paul comes across as a bit of a twat. I prefer John, even though he's being a bit of a dickhead at the moment. But that's just my opinion," she added as she noticed the blonde's darkening expression.

"Oi," called George from the door to the recording studio. "Eppy and ol' man Martin have gone. We're bored! Get your arses in here," he said.

After a silent nod, both girls leapt up and bolted towards the studio.

John was lounging on the sofa that occupied the corner of the studio while George and Ringo played cards. Paul sat at the piano, running through a few little ditties.

"Hey laydeez," said Alice.

"Katie, Psycho," replied John with a smirk.

"Whoa, calm down Bitchtits," Alice said as she dragged Katie (who was grinning stupidly at Paul after he winked at her) over to the piano.

"Whatcha playin'?" she asked as she sat Katie on the piano stool beside him.

"Dunno really. It's about this guy who fancies this girl, but he's too shy to say," he said, a touch of colour blossoming on his cheeks.

"It's lovely," squeaked Katie. Paul ducked his head, trying to hide his grin.

Alice beamed. At least Katie was getting on with her favourite Beatle. And hell, romance appeared to be on the cards. She flopped down beside John on the sofa to watch Ringo thrash George in poker.

"Ugh, don't even sit near me. I'll get crazy germs," said John as he stalked over to the other side of the room.

"All the more room for me, Bitchtits," she said, slouching over the lounge. "On the topic of man boobs, you should stop eating. You get fat in a couple of years, it's pretty gross," said Alice with a saccharine smile. John glared at her, and picked up a nearby guitar. He viciously strummed out a few chords before belting out an unfamiliar tune.

"Oh, Captain Crazy is a bitch,

I only kissed her cos she has nice tits,

She's very ugly and kinda fat,

And I hope she dies in a hole!"

"That didn't even rhyme!" cried Alice, standing up.

"It's avant-garde!" he bellowed in return.

"Isn't that French for bullshit?"

"Isn't Alice French for utter cow?"

"Augh! Why are you being such a dick?"

"Because you just went fucking psycho on me for no bloody reason!"

Alice slapped her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. "Of course there was a bloody reason," she said quietly, "but you never let me explain! Every goddamned time I tried to tell you, you just had to be an utter bastard about it!"

"Then what is it?" he cried, waving his arms in the air.

"Fuck you! As if I would tell you after being such a goddamned dick!" The whole room had fallen silent now, no one daring to interrupt the volcanic fight. Alice and John were practically nose to nose now.

"Fine, die in a fucking hole, for all I care!"

"At least I live past 1980!"

John stopped. No one spoke. Everything was so silent, so still.

"John," started Alice, "John, I-I didn't mean to... fuck," she said as she hugged him. He didn't respond, instead pushing her away and walking out of the studio. Alice looked around the room; stunned silence thick in the air, wide eyes meeting hers. She looked at George. He frowned at her, disappointment etched upon his face. She backed out of the room, gasping for air.

"John," she called as she frantically searched through the back of the studios. "John where are y- oh." She saw John through the window, sitting at the base of a tree, hugging his knees to his chest on the grass in the little garden behind Abbey Road. The sky was dark with billowing masses of violent storm clouds. He sat very still; the only movement was his breath.

"Hey," she said softly as she sat beside him.

He didn't respond, only reaching for her hand, squeezing it tightly. Alice bit her lip and placed her free hand on John's shoulder, turning so they were face to face.

"Look, yesterday, I only freaked out because... someone I loved drowned, almost exactly like that. And it was my fault. And I acted exactly the same as I did the night he died. I left you at the bottom just like I left him. Losing him broke my heart. And I was angry at myself, then and now, but I'm just a selfish cow, and I blamed you, like I blamed him for so long. I'm sorry."

"Then it's true? I die in 1980?" His watery brown eyes searched her face, desperate for her just smile and tell him it was all a joke, a sick, morbid joke.

She hugged him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, letting her tears fall. He closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair. Alice thought she felt a sob wrack through his body. This was John Lennon, manly man, crying in her arms. She was a monster.

John pulled away after several minutes. His eyes were red and his skin turned ashen. "I'm going to die," he said quietly.

"Yes."

"At 40."

"Yes."

"How?"

Alice closed her eyes. "Shot in the back four times by a psychopath," she murmured.

"I suppose I've got seventeen years left, may as well live it up while I can," he said bitterly.

"Seventeen years is a long time, John. And- well, it does sound a bit stupid, but you know, it's worth a shot. Why don't you just go away for the December of 1980? You know, escape to the Bahamas. It could work," she finished lamely.

John smiled sadly and rested his head on her shoulder. "I have seventeen years to figure that out. For now though," he said, looking at Alice with that way that made her feel like he could read her mind, "I think we're even." He kissed her quickly, stood up and left before Alice could react. Once he had returned to the studio, she slumped against the tree trunk; breathless after the unpredictability of John.

**Oh my lordy lordy lordy. What a terribly eventful chapter. Sorry if it's a bit super crazy, but you know. Better stuff will be up soon.**


	14. Chapter 14

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Alice had been running in and out of the studio, running errands with Katie only to be dragged back into the studio by John or George. Strangely enough, when Alice had returned to the studio behind John, everyone acted like nothing had happened. The closest anyone had come to mentioning it was when George shot Alice a worried look and pointed to John. She had shrugged, honestly not knowing how he was taking it. John had returned to an unusually chipper mood, causing uneasy glances to be passed between the others.

At around about seven o clock, the lads had begun to pack everything up, albeit at the pace of a septuagenarian snail. At half past seven, they had finally said their goodbyes to Katie, Brian and all the others, and gotten in the car.

Paul took the wheel and Ringo called shotgun, so John squished in between Alice and George in the back seat. Alice had promptly flopped over onto John's lap.

"You alright, love?" asked John, looking down at Alice, who was staring at the ceiling.

"Mmyearsh," she said as she gently poked his chin. He laughed, lifting Alice off his lap and into a more upright position. She sighed, staring out the window at the very last dregs of golden sunshine seeping through the spatters of clouds on the horizon.

The radio was crackling softly, some old song murmured through the tinny speakers. Alice inhaled deeply, but immediately regretted it; her muscles sore and bones weary. She closed her eyes as the last ray of light winked beyond the horizon, leaning back into John's arms that had wrapped themselves lightly around her waist. She felt for his hands, tangling her own in his rough, calloused hands before falling into a deep sleep.

The next thing Alice knew, she was being shaken by someone.

"Quit it, ya faggot," she muttered and rolled over to return to sleep. The shaking did not stop, so Alice punched the nearest solid thing. However, in her sleep-addled state, she punched the door frame of the car.

"CUNTNIPPLES!" She jerked awake, tears of pain welling and knuckles throbbing. A rather terrified

Ringo peered down at her in the dark.

"We're here," said Ringo.

"I gathered. How long have I been asleep?" She asked as she rubbed her eyes.

"Twelve minutes. You talk in your sleep you know," he said as he helped her out of the car. Alice yawned, stretching her arms high above her head.

"What did I say then?"

They began walking toward the doors of the apartment block as it started to drizzle.

"I dunno, sounded like you were talking to bacon," said Ringo.

"Oh man, that was a great dream. I was eating some tasty bacon, and then it got hit by this ray gun, and it grew! Like, a fifty foot rasher of bacon. I totally jizzed."

"Uh, what's jizzed?"

"Oh boy, I suppose I have to explain the internet now," said Alice.

"And that is 4chan," said Alice as they alighted the elevator. Ringo shuddered.

"That is a bit terrifying," he said. He stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Um, this isn't the right floor," he said.

"Oh man, you live here! You should know this shit by now!" Alice laughed. They walked back to the elevator and Alice pressed the button incessantly but jumped back in fright when it ding!ed.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a girl roughly Alice's age with long, curly blonde hair. She was tanned and lanky, emphasised by her tight black jeans and close fitting white tee shirt.

"Hey Ringo. Hey Ringo's lady-friend," she said. Ringo smiled and waved, although appeared incapable of speaking.

"Whoa, I ain't anyone's lady-friend," said Alice with a laugh, feeling terribly awkward next to the skinny pretty girl.

"Try telling that to John and George," muttered Ringo.

"Er, okay. Anyways, I'm Flora," said the blonde.

"Alice," said the raven haired girl shyly.

"See you round then," said Ringo, before hugging Flora awkwardly. Flora blushed and nearly walked into her door.

In the elevator, Alice pounced on Ringo.

"You love Flora," she sang.

Ringo tried to hide his grin. "Is it obvious?"

"Naw," said Alice as she gently punched his arm. "But you need to make the first move. So, next time you 'accidentally' get off at the wrong floor, invite her over. Or something," she said breezily.

They got the right floor (how can you mistake any other floor for the top floor, honestly!) and as they were about to knock on the door, it swung open; three hungry mop-topped monsters dragging Alice in, taking her hostage until she made dinner. They put her in the kitchen and stared expectantly. Alice shrugged.

"I ain't cooking," she said simply.

The four men (for Ringo had joined in the game) gasped.

"We'll die without dinner," said Paul pleadingly.

"I can't live without foooooood," wailed George.

"Listen, woman," growled John, "why else d'ye think we keep ye?"

"Whoa, just calm the flip down, alright? The answer is simple – we order in," she said, holding up a menu she'd swiped from a fancy restaurant on one of her and Katie's errands.

"But how?" said Ringo.

"Well, we call up, you tell 'em you're the Beatles, la la, we tell 'em what we want and they deliver. Money may not buy you love, but it can buy you a buttload of fancy shit," she said wisely.

The brilliant scheme did not go quite to plan. The waiter refused to believe it was the Beatles on the telephone, so Paul, George and Ringo had to drive down to the restaurant to prove it was them. George had been reluctant to go – it would mean leaving Alice and John alone for an hour. In the end, Paul had practically dragged him out – he had made fun of Ringo's tie earlier that morning, and did not want any awkward situations. As the hunter/gatherers left the house, Alice breathed a sigh of relief. She would have a whole hour of just getting to know John. Unfortunately, John had a very different idea of getting to know Alice.


End file.
